A New Day in Kabul

By Edward Girardet

Photograph by Steve McCurry

In the southern part of old Kabul, "urban sprawl" consists of cobbled-together housing and the remains of buildings devastated during the bitter internecine strife between guerrilla factions in the early 1990s. Ironically the Afghan capital suffered little damage during the Soviet occupation of the 1980s, when much of the fighting took place in the mountains and deserts outside the capital. Now in a phase of tenuous peace after more than two decades of war, the city daily swells with new construction and returning refugees with hopes for their nation's future.

Like many Kabulis, Agha Gul—an old friend of mine from
the 1980s, when I was covering and he was fighting the Soviet
occupation—had lost his home several times during the various conflicts
that ravaged Afghanistan over the past 24 years. From a bloody coup in 1978, to
the Soviet war, to bitter factional fighting in the early 1990s, through
stifling Taliban rule, the nation has known only hardship, with many of its
towns and cities turned to ruins. Now, for the first time, I felt a genuine
sense of optimism for the future. Kabul is finally beginning to live again.

The bazaars throng with merchants, returned refugees, former
fighters, and farmers. Music blares from packed chaikhane, or teahouses, many of which sprout satellite dishes
for television sets perpetually tuned, it seems, to the highly popular Indian
movie or music channels previously banned under the Taliban. Shop stalls brim
with imported goods ranging from Russian refrigerators and tires to Chinese
teapots, as well as the latest CDs and DVDs at black market rates of barely a
dollar each. On the outskirts of town, food markets overflow with produce,
while nomads bring in their camels, sheep, and goats for sale.

Perhaps the most encouraging sign of the city's rebirth is
the recent reopening of its schools, particularly the girls' schools, closed
under the Taliban. Throughout the city, students, who attend class in shifts
because of their overwhelming numbers, troop from class to home, many clutching
plastic "Back to School" UNICEF bags. In backstreets and empty lots Afghans
indulge in soccer and even cricket, imported by refugees from Pakistan. Many
men have shaved their beards or keep them fashionably trimmed, while office
workers increasingly wear suits and ties, expressing a form of modernity not seen
in decades. In public most women still wear a full-length blue or gray chadri, or burka, either by choice or for fear of a
fundamentalist backlash. Yet a determined and growing group of women, mainly
educated professionals, now dare to be seen in long dresses with shawls
carefully wrapped around their heads and shoulders—and with their faces
free.

Freedom quickly translates to chaos on Kabul's streets, now
clogged with yellow-and-white taxis, UN four by fours, and the military
vehicles of international security forces. Uniformed policemen struggle to
direct heedless drivers, often leaping into traffic to slap miscreants amid a
slew of invectives, much to the amusement of jeering bystanders.

The onslaught of new cars, hotels, businesses, and
investment is part of a recovery fueled by the enormous international presence,
which is flooding Kabul with money, jobs, and a sense of security. Yet this
presence is also creating an artificial environment of inflated salaries,
rents, and expectations that cannot last—and that may obscure the city's
very real challenges.